Desmond Bagley - The Snow Tiger

Rusch gave McGill a quizzical glance, then shook Peterson’s left hand a little awkwardly. ‘We could have met in better circumstances, Mr Peterson.’

Peterson was taken wrong-footed. ‘Me!’ he said to Ballard. ‘What about Matt Houghton?’

‘He seems to have had a stroke.’

Peterson’s face worked. ‘Well, now,’ he said indistinctly, and indicated his right arm. ‘I can’t fly fast on a broken wing. You’d better be co-opted, Ian. You and McGill.’

‘Right!’ Ballard turned to Rusch. ‘We need medical supplies.’

‘Those we’ve got.’ Rusch swung around and yelled, ‘Hey, Chief, I want the medical sled — on the double.’

Ballard said, ‘Dr Scott, you take charge of that, and make all necessary arrangements. What about communications, Lieutenant... er...?’

‘Rusch. Lieutenant-Commander Rusch. We have five walkie-talkies, so we can set up a network. There’s a bigger transmitter in one of the sleds for outside communication. We ought to be able to raise Chi-Chi... Christchurch, that is.’

‘That had better go to the church,’ Ballard decided. ‘That’s our headquarters. I’d like to talk to somebody at Civil Defence as soon as possible.’ He paused. ‘By the way, I’m Ian Ballard. Let’s get busy.’

On the way back to the church McGill fell in step with Ballard. ‘What did Turi feed you on at the house? Raw meat?’

‘Someone must take charge of administration and it’s not going to be you. You know about snow rescue, so get to it. But before you go let me have a list of what you need so I can make sense when I talk to Christchurch.’

‘Okay.’ They walked a few more paces, and McGill said, ‘What was the idea of pushing Peterson forward like that? He’s as much use as a fifth wheel.’

‘Strategy. He abdicated — didn’t you hear him? I knew it would happen. Look, Mike: I’m a trained administrator and I’d be wasted doing anything else. You’re a snowman and you’d be wasted doing anything else. Let’s get our priorities right.’

‘Makes sense.’ McGill grinned. ‘And legal, too. We’re now town councillors, you and me both.’

They went into the church, Rusch stopped just inside and frowned as he surveyed the scene. ‘Worse than a war.’

The pews were full of white-faced, lethargic men and women with lustreless eyes. They sat or lay in abandoned attitudes, still and silent, gazing back in horror at the closeness of death. Only a few of them moved and, of those, only a scant half-dozen were attempting to help the others.

McGill said, ‘You’re not going to get much help from this lot. They’ve been hit badly by disaster shock.’

‘Blankets,’ said Ballard. ‘We’ll need blankets. Come up to the office.’ He led the way to the desk that McGill had set up, and sat behind it. ‘Right, Mike. What else do we need?’

‘Trained rescue men — in quantity. They can come in by helicopter and light planes equipped with skis. And they can get these people out on the return trip.’

‘We’ve got some helos at Harewood,’ said Rusch. ‘We’ve been stripping down for winter maintenance but I know that four are serviceable.’

‘We need rescue dogs, too,’ said McGill.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Rusch. ‘There are none in the country as far as I know. I could be wrong, though. Try Mount Cook and Coronet Peak.’

Ballard nodded. Those were popular skiing and climbing areas. ‘There should be trained men there, too.’

Rusch said, ‘Your doctor has gone to a house the other side of the valley. One of my guys has gone with him. I’ll leave another here to help with the radio, and then he can help with the injured here. We’re not exactly medicos but we can set bones. The rest of us will take a general look at the situation and set out a plan.’

Ballard raised his voice. ‘Arthur, come here for a minute.’

Arthur Pye, who was trying to question one of the survivors and not getting very far, straightened up and walked to the desk. His face was haggard and his movements stiff, but there was that spark of intelligence and comprehension in his eyes which was missing from most of the others.

Ballard said, ‘What’s the score, Arthur? How many missing?’

‘God, I don’t know.’ Pye wiped his face with a big hand. ‘How could anyone know?’

‘Then make a guess. I have to tell Christchurch something.’

‘It’s bloody hard getting anything out of anybody.’ Pye hesitated. ‘All right — say three hundred and fifty.’

Rusch stiffened. ‘That many!’

Pye waved his hand. ‘You’ve seen the town — or what’s left of it. They’re still drifting in, one or two at a time. I reckon the final tally will be very much less.’

McGill said, ‘The ones who are coming in now are the lucky ones. There’ll be others who are buried.’

‘Come on, Mike,’ said Rusch. ‘Let’s start looking. Our radio man is fixing up the transmitter, Mr Ballard. If you want to contact me use his walkie-talkie.’

Rusch and McGill left the church and Ballard looked up at Pye. ‘Are you sure about the number?’

‘Of course I’m not sure,’ said Pye wearily. ‘But it’s about that. I think John Peterson bought it. Mary Rees says she saw him run out into the street just before the avalanche hit.’

One of the Americans walked up the central aisle unreeling wire from a drum. He stopped in front of the desk and said, ‘CPO Laird, sir. I’ve got the radio set up outside; it’s better there because of the antenna. But I have a portable handset you can use here. It’s two-way — you use it like an ordinary telephone.’ He put the handset on the desk and plugged it in.

Ballard looked down at the telephone. ‘Who will I be talking to?’

‘Communications centre, Operation Deep Freeze. I’ve just been talking to them.’

Ballard took a deep breath and stretched out his hand. ‘Hello, this is Ballard in Hukahoronui. Can you put me through to Civil Defence Headquarters? It’s in the Reserve Bank Building, Hereford Str—’

A calm voice cut in. ‘No need for that, Mr Ballard. They’re on the line now.’

Rusch, McGill and two of the American servicemen crunched across the snow over the desolation that was Hukahoronui. McGill took off his glove and bent to feel the texture of the snow. ‘It’s hardening,’ he said, and straightened up. ‘I was training some guys in snow rescue before we got hit. I said then they’d be no good, and I was right. You know what’s worrying me right now?’

‘What?’ asked Rusch.

‘We’re going to get a lot of people flying in here if Ballard does his stuff — maybe several hundreds.’ McGill nodded to the west slope. ‘I’m worried that she’ll come down again. That would really compound this disaster.’

‘Is it likely?’

‘There’s still a lot of snow up there, so I think only half of it came down, sliding on a hoar frost surface. I’d like to take a look.’

The man behind Rusch touched his arm. ‘Sir.’

‘What is it, Cotton?’

‘Look at that dog, sir. It’s sniffing at something in the snow.’

They looked to where Cotton pointed and saw an Alsatian pawing at the snow and whining. ‘Maybe it’s not trained,’ said McGill. ‘But it’s the best we’ve got.’

As they approached, the dog looked up at them and wagged its tail — and then scraped at the snow with its forepaw. ‘Good dog,’ said Rusch. ‘Cotton, use that shovel.’

Cotton found the body beneath three feet of snow and Rusch checked the pulse. ‘This one is gone. Let’s get him out.’

They pulled the body from the snow and Rusch’s breath hissed from his lips. ‘What in the name of God happened to his face? Do you know him, Mike?’